Saturday, March 26, 2011

On Broadway's The Book Of Mormon

This is an almost classically traditional musical score, each song unique, but united and woven together in show-stopping finales. Their blend is of subversive material filtered through tradition and sincerity. There is no cynicism here. Yes there is General Butt-Fucking Naked. There is an African woman called Neosporin. There is a fantastic send-up of Bono; a lovely dig at Johnnie Cochrane; some rudely sodomized frogs; and a baptism that sounds like sex. But there are also moments of unexpected poignancy, as when an African woman discovers that she has in fact been deceived. It is the best thing they have ever done - musically, theatrically, comically

This is to all the doubters and deniers out there, the ones who say that heaven on Broadway does not exist, that it’s only some myth our ancestors dreamed up. I am here to report that a newborn, old-fashioned, pleasure-giving musical has arrived at the Eugene O’Neill Theater, the kind our grandparents told us left them walking on air if not on water. So hie thee hence, nonbelievers (and believers too), to “The Book of Mormon,” and feast upon its sweetness.

It takes no guts to bash Mormons on Broadway. Real men would rip Muslims. Real men would admit they love bashing Mormons. But the critics are also mere boys. Sullivan praises the musical for its "humaneness." The Los Angeles Times boasts of its "good intentions." AP calls it a "pro-religion musical." Newsday writes that it "seems smitten" to "do good." The reaction of homosexual reviewers is always fun to read. Sullivan justifies the Mormon bashing by saying we should judge "Mormonism by Mormons." Ben Brantley of the New York Times is hot over the scene where there are a "few choice words for the God who let them [AIDS victims] wind up this way." But if we were to judge homosexuals by what they do, we would know who caused them to wind up with AIDS. That would take real guts.